Sharing stories in a broken culture

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In
late-April 2017 the French Presidential candidate Emmanuel Macron
stunned supporters of Marine Le Pen, his opponent, by directly
engaging with them on a picket line. Macron handed the microphone to union
members whilst arguing that closing borders would do nothing positive for the
economy, and might well harm it.

This
was a rare act of engagement in western politics, where debates are
characterised by the frothing of deeply divided sides. If Macron’s argument had
been transmitted indirectly via the media it would probably have fallen on deaf
ears, dismissed as more ‘fake news’ or standard ‘liberal bias.’ But he managed
to create a relationship with people directly who he knew might disagree with
him, and this direct engagement made all the difference. Physical presence has
a power that goes beyond any argument. By showing that he was ready to listen, Macron
also helped to diffuse his opposition. The crowd quietened and a dialogue
began.

The
gatekeeper of our intellect—the emotional limbic system—relies
on relationship. No matter how potent the arguments, that system won’t allow
more information to be processed rationally by the ‘higher’ faculties of the brain
if there is no emotional connection. That means that respectful relationships
are a prior condition for persuasion—a point that is lost in much current political
campaigning, still more in the nightly ridicule of President Trump and his
supporters by comedians on late night television shows in the USA.

The
polarised cultures of Western democracy alienate one other not just through
what they say, but also by how they live. These divisions are having a crucial
effect on how we address issues of migration, welfare and trade. The problem is
that both sides are so busy trying to fix the other that no genuine
communication is taking place.

The
blogger Andrés Miguel Rondón offers Venezuela’s experience as a prescription for healing this situation. It took liberals there years to realise that they themselves
had become de-humanised, while in the mindset of those who saw ex-President Hugo Chavez as a champion,
all talk of justice and freedom of the press fell on deaf ears because it seemed
to come from an alien group.

When
two sides of an argument are so entrenched, a simple exchange of facts no
longer produces any forward movement. The clash is not one of opinions but of radically-different
worldviews. A worldview is an emotional commitment to certain attitudes and
beliefs. Most of us spend our entire lives accumulating evidence to justify a
worldview. Our lives and actions then seek to express it. “We tend not to see
our worldview as a perspective” says researcher Annick
de Witt,
“We see it as truth.”

The
fundamentals of our own worldviews are no less shaky than those of the
opposition, but our respective commitments run very deep. Long-time Greenpeace
activist and storyteller Brian
Fitzgerald
puts it another way: “What is being expressed might seem crazy, but the feeling
it expresses is a true experience for that person.” We may deny or reject what
we see as a nonsensical argument, but in doing so we are denying what someone
else experiences as truth. It’s this dynamic that feeds mutual alienation.

So
what does it take to reach across our different worldviews?

First,
“it takes a lot of humility” says de Witt, “We need to be willing to explore the
limitations of our own worldview.” But this is a step, she admits, that few of
us seem willing to take. The theatre director Peter Brookputs
it like this: “hold on tightly, let go lightly.” “For a point of view to be
of any use at all,” he says, “one must commit oneself totally to it, one must
defend it to the very death. Yet at the same time, there is an inner voice that
murmurs: ‘Don’t take it too seriously.’” It would be wonderful if more of us were
willing to commit to our values, but even more powerful if we had the grace to
let go. Only then could we find more common ground.

Secondly, the stories that shape our
worldviews are very powerful. In the information age it’s tempting to think of
the whole world as a story. If the world is a story then the perfect world is
only a story away. We need only spin a message, an advert or campaign to bring
about successful change.

We all know of indigenous tribes whose
worlds are shaped by the stories that they’ve heard, so we believe our own
storytelling will shape society too. The trouble is that the kind of stories that
are told in such societies are part of a network of mythology—not media to be
consumed but realities that are lived. Such stories aren’t just heard; they are
enacted through ritual. Listeners
become participants in ways that shape and sharpen their psyche. They don’t simply
receive information; they learn new ways of seeing and being in the world.
Their intuition is moulded so that they know how to act.

It will take the work of centuries to
restore our present-day cultures to anything like that level of dignity and
imagination. However, we can draw one vital lesson: what we are looking for is
not a story but a ritual. By creating experiences that embody the world we want
to live in, we allow others to participate and create their own meaning.

“It took our leaders ten years to
figure out they needed to actually go to the slums and to the countryside” says
Rondón, “And not for a speech, or a rally, but for game of dominoes or to dance
salsa – to show they were Venezuelans too, that they had tumbao
and could hit a baseball, could tell a joke that landed.”

To see how these different elements
combine—relationship, humility and ritual—here’s a recent example that comes from
Italy. In 2016, a group called GoDeep! hit the streets of Grottaglie in
Puglia to explore—and potentially transform—local attitudes towards migration from North Africa.

At the heart of the process was what
they call the ‘appreciative gaze,’ an attitude similar to the unconditional
positive regard that was practiced by the psychotherapist Carl Rogers. Rather than arriving
with pre-set judgements on what needed to be changed, the group spoke to local
people on their own terms. Sometimes this meant receiving openly racist abuse,
but gradually ties with the community were forged.

At the end of the enquiry, a
celebration of diversity was held in which both local culture and the cultures
of the new arrivals were included. Those seen as ‘the other’—in this case
migrants and liberal activists from GoDeep!—steadily became more of an ‘us.’ By
starting with direct contact and open conversation with local people, the group
established a relationship. This relationship then served to create an
experience that told a deeper story of unity than words alone could tell. This
story of unity was then ritualised in celebration.

First-hand experiences of this kind
create more information, conversation and connections than conventional media
campaigns, and they help to reduce the likelihood of judgmental behaviour and artificial
separation. “In a few days we created the possibility for people from diverse
backgrounds to take ownership of their local space” saysNiels Koldewijn, a GoDeep! participant and the
director of Elos Foundation. “It generated recognition
for migrants from the locals, and importantly, migrants for locals as well.”

This approach might not be enough to persuade
political hardliners, but it can help to create the right conditions for those who
are ready to make a jump across the lines of difference. As one of Hannah
Arendt’s favourite poems from Walter Benjamin puts
it:

“…the soft water’s movement will
defy the strongest stone in time.
The hard ones, you see, are more easily undermined.”

We could imagine a wave of ritual
actions similar to GoDeep! taking place worldwide, each one a potent
demonstration of the open, tolerant world we want to create. Enacting
unity through public works, participatory theatre and even cups of tea would mean
that we’re not just telling a story but creating it together—and doing so in ways
where everyone’s invited.

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